Sunday, August 20 Haryana, Cricket, College English Tests, Signage

I woke up with pinkeye and sunburn. Shashi was playing cricket, so I talked to his friends, who just arbitrarily show up at his house. Me and Atul (funny name in English) had chai and breakfast, vegetables and curd and chapati, made by Shashi’s mother. Then Atul took me to the cricket field. I watched part of a game. How it works is it takes 15 hours for one game, played over a series of days and with multiple tea breaks. The heavily-armored batsmen are on the field two at a time, at opposite sides of a running path. The bowler throws the heavy ball and the batsman hits it on the bounce. The fielders try and catch it or stop the batsmen from running to the opposite goal. The number of scores before getting out is recorded before the other team bats. It’s complicated and seems like baseball, but not as fun. I had a sudden urge to watch a baseball game, which probably isn’t going to happen. I tried batting the cricket ball, which is hard because it’s an underhand swing and you have to hit it after the bounce. After nearly killing the catcher with a foul ball, I knocked a line drive, almost killing the bowler. They thought it was pretty funny. I sat around while the team members talked in the shade. The coach was Stephan Meloy’s Indian twin. Every shop in Nilokheri seemed to shut its doors on Sunday. Cricket is the favorite Sunday event for the young men, and sitting around playing cards seems to be a favorite with older men. Near the field, a group of Indian electrical engineering students gathered to receive their grades from the small polytechnic college. I was taken inside and shown their computer lab, a small room with typewriters and where they were building computers, which looked really old and slow. Such a juxtaposition; right next to a cricket field, sewage-filled stream, herd of water buffalo, rice and wheat fields, sits a village with an high-tech engineering polytechnic college. They all wanted to practice their English, so I used my normal accent. In order to study in the English-speaking world, everyone has to pass a test, called the International English Language Testing System, from the UK, which costs $150 and uses British (useless) English. I looked at the passages, and they were really difficult. I don’t know if I could even pass them. Example: The ____ (I narrowed it down to ‘fall’ or ‘decline’) in oil prices created a need for alternate energy sources. Are you kidding! It’s supposed to test academic, conversational, and everyday English. If a native educated English-speaker cannot determine the answer, I think that’s a little unfair. Inside the test booklet was one of their resumes to study in the West, and it was horrible. I helped him organize his resume to make it more presentable. He had put the personal information (like Father’s name and occupation which is required in India) first, when he wanted to emphasize his education. And his name was written the same size as his address. I don’t understand why they don’t teach these things in the United States or India. It’s one of the most important parts of getting a job, I’d venture to say even more important than if you know the difference between ‘fall’ and ‘decline’. I came back to Shashi’s house, where his mom cooked us rice, chapati, rajma, and curd. It was delicious. I was originally going to stay overnight tonight as well. However, I was feeling really dirty and tired, and had pinkeye, and Shashi was getting on my nerves. He was very hospitable, but he acted like he owned the town, which is unfortunately literally true, him being a landlord. He acted like a tough guy, and as if he was really popular and a pimp. It was annoying, plus the town was getting kind of boring; all I do is sit, repeat conversations, and eat. Shashi dropped me off at the bus station, where I flagged down a bus within two minutes, to Delhi. On the way, this guy spit out the window, and it got all over me. It was disgusting, but it’s worse. It happened again, and after smelling myself, I realized it was vomit. So I had a combination of pinkeye, sunburn, and dirt, dust, sweat, and vomit all over myself. On the way out of Haryana, there was a checkpoint. You were exempt of a toll if you were a VIP, meaning: 1. President of India, 2. Vice President of India, 3. Central and State Ministers, 4. Governors of States, 5. Lt Governors of Union Territories, 6. Foreign Diplomats, and 7. Government Employees. In other words, #1-6 applies to 0.0000001% of the Indian population, and then with the addition of #7, it swells this percentage to 50%. I could tell I was entering Delhi again when I saw an enormous sour-smelling landfill of trash. Oh, Delhi. I got out of the bus, and decided to go to the Tibetan Market, which was a tiny alley selling tons of knock-off Chinese designer clothing. I am going to go on a fatty shopping spree here right before I leave Delhi. I took the Metro home and got all cleaned up.